


Flowers

by sherlockianfangirl



Series: Sherlock/Reader One-Shots (that are anything but ordinary) [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A type of soulmate AU, AU, F/M, Inspired, saw this thing on tumblr and became
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 21:25:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7070947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockianfangirl/pseuds/sherlockianfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where whatever you draw on your skin also appears on your soulmate's skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers

A flower.

When Sherlock wakes up in the morning, the first thing that catches his eye is the expertly drawn flower in the middle of his palm. It has five petals that's been drawn with a thin black marker. He watches, transfixed, as the flower is shaded with red and yellow marker. The warm colors contrast brightly against his pale skin.

By the time he's dressed there's an additional two flowers on his palm, their petals shaded in blue and purple. He has concluded for years that his significant other is an artist, that much was evident even when he was a child. What isn't evident is _who_ has been drawing the flowers.

Not that it bothers him. Sometimes he gets teased for having such feminine drawings on his skin, but he'd rather have flowers than those people who are unfortunately wound up with tattoos. It's common knowledge anything, even tattoo ink, will appear not only on your skin, but on your soulmate's as well. At least his marks can be washed off. Other people, however, consider him lucky, lucky for having marks at all. John hasn't found his soulmate yet, and all he gets are stray pen marks.

Although he has never told anybody, he secretly enjoys watching his significant other's drawings come to be. On several occasions, he has sat for hours watching his skin blossom with color. It is by far the best part of his day. So he is more than please to see that there are more flowers being drawn on his arms as he sit in his armchair with no cases to solve.

While he watches, he realizes that a certain pattern has formed. Every other flower drawn is left blank. Colorless. From years of watching these drawings take place, Sherlock knows that this is no accident. His soulmate must be doing this on purpose. She must be trying to convey something. Something that he understands immediately. She wants _him_ to finish the flowers.

He is in a sudden mad dash to find something, anything, to color in the flowers. He sifts through everything in his desk's drawers, and at last comes across a few markers. One is a sad shade of yellow. The other is a dark blue. He looks again and finds a purple, a red, and a green marker. As he brings the marker tips to his skin, he learns that coloring is no easy feat. The tip keeps on escaping the neat, black border drawn. He clenches his teeth in frustration. This must be humorous for his soulmate to watch, watching the world's only consulting detective trying to color on his skin.

But his soulmate doesn't know that the man who's coloring is the world's only consulting detective. She doesn't know his name, or his profession, or even what country he lives in. Hell, he could be in South Africa for all she knows. These facts distress Sherlock. He wants know, _needs_ to know, _**must** _ know who is behind all of the magnificent illustrations.

Around lunch time, he willingly ventures out into the streets, despite having no agenda whatsoever. For some reason, a small nagging voice has manifested in his mind. A voice that keeps on telling him that maybe, maybe he would run into his soulmate. It turns out to be a bad idea to keep his hopes up the way he was. All he passes are normal pedestrians, a homeless man who isn't part of his current network (he'll fix that later), and a woman who's offering to draw people's caricatures.

Right now, she's drawing on her arm.

Sherlock pulls up his coat sleeve and finds the flowers that he had previously colored in. They are no longer sloppy, or looking like they were hastily colored. His soulmate has refined the flowers, thickened the edges, and drawn new ones where she couldn't. Now his artwork blends right in with hers. A sense of belonging overcomes him.

As his pulse elevates, he walks briskly to the woman. When she catches sight of him, she puts down her black marker and straightens her posture. She asks him if he'd like a caricature.

Instead of responding, he grabs her arms and inspects them. He runs his fingers over the drawings, certai ones looking far beyond familiar. When he puts up his own arm against hers, he realizes. The flowers drawn on his arm match her own.

"I've found you, because of your flowers," he says.


End file.
